


I'll keep you warm

by kalika_999



Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [125]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Cuddling & Snuggling, HYDRA Husbands, M/M, Overprotective, Possessive Behavior, Protectiveness, Scent Marking, Sharing Clothes, Sickfic, Werewolf Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:00:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25175023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999
Summary: Worry came when he knew Brock going outside meant things like this.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [125]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/547894
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	I'll keep you warm

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Beat of Your Heart Next to Mine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18233933) by [kalika_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999). 



Jack’s ears perked to the sound of familiar footsteps approaching the brownstone stairs and he rose off the sprawl of the couch, lingering in the hallway as keys jingled.

Something was wrong. 

He sniffed the air as Brock swung the door open and a pitched whine drew out of him. In return he received a slight frown.

Brock looked like he’d been through hell and back, and then through it all over again before finally he was allowed to go home. While the bruises were a regular outcome on missions, the pallid skin and dark bags under bloodshot eyes were not. His lips looked dry and cracked, and his scent was wrapped in the distinct mark of sickness.

Jack approached, a clawed and fur-covered hand roaming along the front of Brock’s shirt.

“Yeah, s’yers.” He muttered weakly, shuffling deeper into the house and past him.

Jack followed; drawn between confusion, annoyance and worry. The confusion stemmed from the puzzle as to what had happened since the last time he was home, which led to annoyance because it was probably mission related. Worry came when he knew Brock going outside meant things like this.

“Jus a stomach bug.”

Worry tried to be the sole thing he felt, but the annoyance was stronger, close to anger. He couldn’t protect him if he wasn’t willing to stay put.

Brock simply sank onto the couch and huddled into the blanket there. He looked deathly sick. Stomach bug? More like food poisoning, and Jack knew it was. There was no other way to go about the way he smelled, he was just too stubborn to admit it. 

It was going to be nasty soon and usually that meant vomiting because of the upset stomach, cramps, cold spells, fever, and whatever else was churning through him that was at the brink of making his life a living hell. Brock wasn’t going to like what happened when it all came at once, he was already a terrible patient with just a simple cold.

Jack approached the living room, his eyes never off him.

“M’fine.”

He stared at his clearly suffering boyfriend before simply letting out a snort in disbelief.

Brock didn’t even glare at him for that one. He looked too faint, like even a stiff breeze could push him sideways.

Jack was still curious about the one aspect in all this that wasn’t a normal thing. Why was he wearing his shirt? Generally he scented Brock’s clothes before relinquishing them, not the other way around. 

He wanted to ask but since he was shifted, there was no way  _ to _ ask, and Brock had closed his eyes, looking so absolutely miserable. Jack just didn’t have the heart to prod about it.

Once, he tried convincing Brock to wear his clothes, to wear things that smelled just of Jack to ward off any others. But he only received a roll of eyes and a snort for his efforts, the matter absolutely fruitless. Their clothes weren’t even interchangeable, they had different body types and it showed when there had been a time they did end up wearing each others. There was no way Brock was going to run his team, much less go to the store, wearing things that made him look like he couldn’t dress himself.

So it stood to reason, why now was he wearing one of Jack’s shirts after all this time?

He dismissed the thought for now, it wasn’t a big deal and even if it brought in a warmth deep inside him that he didn’t need to relish in right then. Disappearing down the hall, he shifted back upon entering the bedroom. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to stay within his human counterpart, not when tonight was a full moon and the whole thing was so exhausting, but he had to for Brock’s sake and tugged on a pair of sweatpants before heading for the kitchen. 

Jack busied himself looking through the fridge for Gatorade, ignoring the dulling ache in his bones and the hum of energy buzzing just beneath his skin, walking out to the living room again.

Brock had buried into the couch, curled up, looking even more miserable. Jack was sure he didn’t even notice the way he was trembling under the covers. 

“Here. Take small sips of this, you’re going to need it.” He uncapped a bottle of water after and set it on the table. “Drink more water than Gatorade but just keep hydrated. From the way you smell you’re about thirty minutes from shooting from both ends.” 

He knew Brock was really ill when he didn’t even give him a dirty look to that, but instead seemed to be ready to throw up right then. 

“Trust me.”

Those copper brown eyes, blurry as they were, spoke clear. Brock did trust him, and always did since even before he knew what was wrong with him.

Jack still wasn’t sure he could trust himself, but no one would say anything against Brock’s trust.

Brock took small sips of the Gatorade and then a small amount of water when Jack offered it to him while he looked like he was about to throw up again. He didn’t though, not yet. Instead as he leaned more against his side, sprawled along the couch, he began to doze off.

Jack didn’t push him to do anything more, stripping himself of his sweats and allowing the change to take over. His bones shifted and limbs stretched, his face elongating into a muzzle and thick fur smothered him. He climbed onto the edge of the couch and draped himself over Brock’s body, his nose pressed into the nape of Brock’s neck as he heard him emit a sigh of relief. 

Jack brushed against soft fabric, worn and warm, a pleased rumble rising from the back of his throat. Even through the sickness he could smell himself on Brock, on his skin, and it soothed the wolf within him greatly. He snuffled into messy black hair as he peered towards the window to the day slowly losing the light of the sun. His urges would come in stronger soon, teeth itching to it: to run, to hunt, but he’d gotten past it before by staying inside, now with Brock ill he was sure he would have no issue stopping himself this time.

Instincts warred within him to go out and find out the exact story behind what happened to Brock, but also keep him safe; in the end protecting his human easily won out in the end. It was mostly because he had no assurance something wouldn’t trigger him to become feral and without Brock to handle him, he was unsure of what the outcome would be.

He curled up tighter around Brock, kept him warm and shielded from harm.

It was how they fell asleep.

*****

Brock woke a few times; he’d circulate between hurrying to the bathroom and staying there for long periods while Jack lingered by the door, getting the chills, becoming too feverishly hot, and then refusing to keep rehydrated until Jack threatened him via  _ very sharp and not in the mood  _ teeth. Between all of that he would sleep and Jack sacrificed his own rest to keep close watch of him. 

It was all fine with the assurance of having him covered with his own body, listening to his breaths, feeling the cramps die down and the chills recede. Jack opportunistically scented him every hour or so just as a habitual thing he had to do, especially with night falling in and the large urgency to  _ go outside _ . 

There was no way he would. He’d always been happy, grounded, content with Brock there, settling the more feral instincts he had of himself, and even when Brock couldn’t physically console him and sooth his anxieties, his being where he belonged helped the both of them immensely.

So Jack watched him sleep, the bright beams of moonlight just within arms reach.

*****

It was too adorable to watch Brock, now completely dressed in top layers of Jack’s clothes. He looked smaller than he actually was which was a feat in itself, watching him shuffle throughout the kitchen the next morning. He was unshaven, his hair a complete mess, but the colour had come back to his face instead of looking pasty, and those dark bags under his eyes had gone from making his face gaunt to just smudges that would go away eventually. His eyes were still slightly bloodshot and it was clear he was still feeling a bit shaky. 

Jack just barely fit under the kitchen table as he waited by the chair for Brock to return. Eventually shambling back in oversized slippers holding a bowl of heated broth and a side of dry toast.

Brock looked down as Jack shifted in closer, dropping his head against his lap as he peered up at him. His ears tucked back and lowered when Brock finally brought a hand on his head, preening to the touch of his fingers grazing along fur.

“I know what yer thinkin’, am I up fer this? I really ain’t sure, but I am a little hungry.”

Jack supposed it was enough, his eyes instinctively closing to Brock’s thumb and fingers running along the edge of his ear and easing the tension he didn’t know he was holding. The small noisy bite of toast returned him back to reality, alert for any kind of adverse reaction. 

Nothing happened. Brock ate the slice at a leisurely pace and sipped at his broth despite how sleepy he still seemed to look.

Brock held up a second slice and looked at it with something close to disgust. Eventually he took a bite out of it, and then a couple more before he finally leaned back and rubbed a hand over his tired face.

Jack whined softly through his nose, worried. He licked the hand Brock rested against his thigh and watched him stir a little.

“I jus really feel like shit, Jackie.”

Finally lurking out from around the chair, Jack stood fully upright, a hulking mass of himself. He grabbed Brock by the arm, claws careful not to shred into his clothing and tugged him along towards the bathroom. 

Brock made a noise of protest but allowed himself to be pulled before they stopped at the door. “Are ya sayin’ I smell?”

Jack did his best impression of an eye roll and loped towards the shower as his boyfriend swayed and shuffled next to him. The instinct to strip and practically carry Brock into the tub was a thought he held back, but he did clamp sharp teeth over one arm to direct it towards the faucets.

“Hey, easy there. Ya know, you ain’t exactly great at handlin’ shit with kid gloves in that fursuit.”

Jack growled, teeth pressing more firmly into flesh to get the point across over how much he hated the term  _ fursuit _ with a passion. 

“Ow, fuck.” Brock tugged at his arm. “Quit that shit.”

Jack growled, teeth still holding firm.

“Fine, m’sorry ya sensitive fuck. Jesus, I’m the sick one ‘ere.”

Jack finally let go and headbutted him towards the tub, shower already running and steaming up the mirror. He lingered uneasily, hoping Brock wasn’t two seconds from collapsing or just outright passing out under the spray. He just wanted him clean and comfortable and back in bed, or on the couch, whatever Brock felt up to.

*****

The couch it was.

Damp hair brushed against Jack’s chin and he drew mindless patterns with the tip of his nose against Brock’s shoulder as he slept once more. 

It was the best for him. Just sleeping most of the lingering illness off.

Wrapped up in another of Jack’s shirts and much better looking than last night, Brock lay snuggled up under him. Usually Brock hated it, complained he was too hot and felt smothered, but right now he clung tight to him like a lifeline he couldn’t let go. Not that Jack minded.

He took a light sniff, pleased with the acrid smell receding off his skin, replaced with the scent of Brock’s annoying shower gel and his boyfriend’s natural scent.

_ His. _

Jack would always follow wherever Brock went, it was an obvious fact. He buried his muzzle deeper into the space between shoulder and neck, his claws itching to come out and dig into the couch holding Brock in place until he was completely well again. He only wanted to keep him still until he was perfectly fine again, wait until that point to allow him to move.

He’d protect him for life.

*****

Brock was more or less his old self by late afternoon and he actually kept down more than a piece of toast and a few sips of broth. He ate a large bowl of chicken noodle soup and both slices of bread. His colour was returning, eyes weren’t so dull, and he no longer had the smell of sickness on him.

Jack couldn’t shift back since the first time when Brock came home, too on guard after that to even humour it. Instead he spent his time pacing and prodding Brock to do things, growling when he wasn’t listening to him and using teeth when he had to.

“Thanks.” Brock said as he stood in the kitchen, watching Jack tucked under the table cat-napping against the low rays of sunlight.

He lifted his head at him, his ears perking up, asking.

“Fer takin’ care of me.” He stepped in closer, sitting down in his chair. “Ya didn’t ‘ave to, but then again I know how ya are with me.”

Jack snorted, the both of them knowing if he was back to his human self, he would have reacted in some kind of similar way. He quietly studied Brock, pleasantly pleased he was wearing Jack’s entire wardrobe now. It was satisfying news, apparently Brock felt more protected in them when he was under the weather and Jack wasn’t there to argue with him about it.

Instead fur receded and he shifted back, craning his neck from side to side to stretch and allowing his body to adjust to the change afterwards. 

Brock studied him quietly, composed like Jack wasn’t standing completely naked in the middle of their kitchen. 

Jack met his calm gaze, stepping in and pulling Brock to him by the hem of the slate gray cardigan. Numerous times he’d be called an old man for wearing it, and later when Brock would do it again, he was going to show him no mercy about it. His boyfriend allowed himself to get pulled in, not even putting up a playful little fight. Jack slipped his hands under the soft, loose t-shirt, feeling warmth and the curve of muscles. He pressed a kiss against Brock’s temple, then over lips that were no longer pale. 

“Mine.”

Brock leaned into his space with a chuckle, kissed him back with a little more force than their previous one.

“Yers.” He agreed.

Jack buried his face against Brock’s neck, into skin and his cardigan sweater. The scent was soothing, easing his inner self with an assurance that he didn’t have to post a protective watch anymore over Brock being sick.

Arms wrapped around his neck like it made them complete and Jack could only hold him tight.

Brock was always going to be his to protect and his alone.


End file.
